


Constellation Cure

by Nyaow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Detox, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, Getting Back Together, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Season/Series 05, Stargazing, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyaow/pseuds/Nyaow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's stuck in the tail end of detox, and can only take so many hours in the car. Dean thinks he found a way to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellation Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving from tumblr to here, basically. I have one more to transfer one and then I'm going to start on longer, ao3-specific fics.

It’s the dead middle of the Apocalypse, and they should be spending every minute trying to save the world - or at least keeping as many people alive as they can until it ends. But Sammy just got off detox, probably pulled himself out of the panic room too early (not that either of them are complaining) if the shakes are anything to go by, so Dean figures they can take a break. 

He picks a direction because his brother won’t and drives without a destination, pulling over every once in a while so Sam can stand outside and not feel so confined. This whole thing’s been brutal, and dead inside or not, he can stow his crap for five minutes if it means keeping Sam’s head together until this newest mess is done. Fucking Famine. This whole week’s been nothing but bullshit and listening to screams from the panic room. Last time he hadn’t actually  _seen_ the withdrawal and, well, it was a lot worse than he thought. 

As if he couldn’t feel any lower.

"Dean." Sam’s fingers pinch his sleeve but don’t touch his skin and lightly tug. His hand is shaking. "Dean, pull over."

This is the first time his brother’s actually asked himself; for the past twelve hours Dean’s been using his judgment. They’re on some deserted road in the middle of Nebraska where there’s nothing but miles and miles of corn on one side and plain fields on the other, so it’s no trouble to easy the Impala onto the shoulder. Sam pushes open the door and swings his legs to the side so his boots are hitting packed dirt instead of the car floor. He’s shaking too bad to stand and Dean gets out completely, circles around so he’s in front of his brother.

Before Sam can start apologizing, he says, “Should’ve told me earlier.”

His brother shakes his head, flops his temple against the edge of the seat. “Didn’t hit me ‘til just now,” he mumbles, playing with a string from a fraying stitch on his jeans. They’re both going to need new clothes soon, which sucks. At least they aren’t wanted by the police right now. “I’m -“

"Sam."

A pause. “Yeah.” Earlier he finally snapped, told Sam to stop saying sorry so much. Probably could’ve pulled it off better. “Can we just…stay here for a little while? There’s no one around.”

He worries his bottom lip before nodding because he’s thought of something to do (sitting here doing nothing sounds dull for both of them and Sam needs a distraction). “Wait here,” he says and stands. 

After grabbing a handful of blankets and precariously balancing two beers each on top so he doesn’t have to make another trip, he’s given the satisfying reward of a smile he hasn’t seen since Valentine’s Day. “Think you can walk enough to get up on the hood?” he says.

Careful sounding, Sam answers, “Yeah, I can,” and his voice sounds wrecked.

Then he twists around, turns off the car and takes out the key while Dean sets everything up, movements practically muscle memory even though they haven’t done this since the Apocalypse started. And Sam might say he can do it, but Dean comes over to help him anyway, grabbing onto his arm and having flashbacks to when they were kids and teaching his baby brother how to walk. He fell once, banged his head and started crying. Dad had just picked him up and said that all babies screw up pretty frequently in the beginning and when Dean was a kid he once knocked over the baby gate and surfed down the stairs. Hadn’t even cried.

To his credit, Sam does manage to pull himself up without help and even opens his own beer, which is impressive for a guy going through demon blood withdrawal. “If you’re gonna fall asleep, give me the head’s up so I can take that thing away from you,” he tells his brother, trying and failing to make it sound like he’s teasing because this is a legitimate concern. “Don’t need these blankets soaked, right?”

Sam’s lips go thin and a shudder racks his body. “No promises.”

They should’ve stayed with Bobby. He can understand why his brother didn’t want to (even though he thinks it’s stupid), but this is getting ridiculous.

He doesn’t say this, though, and Sam keeps his mouth shut too. His brother watches the stars and Dean watches him, paying attention for the first time in months - his stupidly long hair curled near his forehead, eyes dark blue in the not-light, the way one side of his mouth pulls down when he’s not happy. The Apocalypse started in March, but as early as January is when everything started coming to a standstill because Sam was acting so weird and Dean just didn’t know what to deal with it. And he’s not working too hard at denying that all of the sleeping around he’s been doing since Lucifer got out has been to spite him.

Yeah, Dean came to terms with the fact that he’s not a good person years ago. That’s old news. Dead inside or whatever. 

Then, “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t even realized he was staring that noticeably.

"Forty-eight hours before you can say that again, sweetheart," he reminds him, the endearment coming out more sarcastic than he meant it too. Sam’s still shaking so he doesn’t flinch, but Dean knows he would on a normal day. Whoops. "What  _now?_ ”

"Nothing," his brother mumbles.

"It’s something."

After a moment, Sam says, “I know you probably want to find a case. Find a way to stop this thing. And I’m just slowing you down. Slowing us down. I can’t afford to -"

"Sam, it’s okay if we take a break," he cuts in because they do. "A few days at least. Going hard like this after something like that ain’t normal."

His brother doesn’t answer right away and for a second Dean thinks he’s just absorbing everything, but that’s scrapped quickly because Sam does something close to seizing, slumping down and somehow keeping the beer upright. He mumbles sorry again as Dean takes it away and pulls him back up, putting his weight against his side. His temperature’s spiked into a fever. Again. Still,  _Hell_ will freeze over or whatever the saying is before he goes back in that fucking panic room.

He must be really out of it too because his hand slips into Dean’s, a sign of comfort he hasn’t used in months. Dean gives a squeeze of reassurance and nearly panics when his brother doesn’t immediately squeeze back. “Sam?”

"I can’t see Cassiopeia," he answers, eyes scanning the clear sky. They’ve missed the time the constellation’s visible. "Ironic, huh?"

When he was about fifteen, Sam went through a mythology stage where he bothered learning things he’d never have to use for hunting. Cassiopeia was tied to a rock as torture for being arrogant or something boring like that and Dean doesn’t like the connotation. He points to the only constellation he recognizes. “We can see the Phoenix.”

His brother makes a noise halfway between agreement and exasperation. “Guess that’s appropriate. Basically burned the world and all.”

"That’s not what I was getting at."

Hell, he doesn’t know what he’s getting at to begin with. Sam’s the one who has deep thoughts or whatever about star signs and destiny and fucking metaphors of God knows what. Half the time Dean has no idea what’s goin on in his head.

Sam looks up at him from where his temple’s leaning against his shoulder. “I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you’re right.”

His lips are chapped from the cold so they’re stupid and pink and the fever’s turned his eyes bright and shiny. Dean’s barely thinking when he bends down and kisses him. Sam returns it immediately, reaching up to tangle his fingers his hair and pull him closer. 

The kiss is short, his brother quickly falling backwards because he can’t really support himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeats before Dean can say anything, not sitting up. Then he adds, “Are you sure?”

With a shrug, Dean answers, “Whole world’s going to shit. Might as well take what we can.”

It’s not like him, really, to even  _think_ that, but Sam was so familiar and, well,  _perfect_ even at his worst that he can’t figure out why they didn’t start back up early. His brother smiles, silly and slow. “Missed you, Dean,” he says, reaches up and pulling him back down and it’s a struggle to keep the beers from spilling.

"Missed you too, Sammy," he mumbles against his mouth and it’s the closest to  _I Love You_ either of them have said in a long, long time.


End file.
